


Art Deco

by mollykaths



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Flirting, LMFAO - Freeform, M/M, Really he just wants to get laid, Rhys trying to be cool and failing miserably, This is very indulgent, Vasquez doesn't have any ulterior motives, Very brief flirting that leads to sex, be warned, but its T rated, rhysquez - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 22:44:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6060868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollykaths/pseuds/mollykaths
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So tonight, admittedly, Hugo had had his doubts but then he remembers that he didn’t spend three thousand dollars on a suit for nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Art Deco

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of those silly "what if the first time Rhys and Vasquez were properly introduced to each other was at a bar in Helios and they were friendly at first because they didn't know they were destined to be rivals so they end up making out with each other" fics.

Last weekend, Hugo Vasquez didn’t have much luck when he traipsed the ritzy clubs Hyperion had to offer. There was a woman—what was her name? Yvete? Lynette? Hugo didn’t remember. Anyhow, the tall lady with a nice pair of gams didn’t take kindly to his approach. Some would argue that he “comes on too strong.” Hugo would be inclined to agree because most of the time he’s gotten too drunk to remember what he’s said so the possibility that he’s done something stupid is definitely….more common than he’d like to admit.

 

Nonetheless, he had certainly been very drunk that evening and whatever he said, Yvette/Lynette wasn’t amused because she had sloshed her drink on some of his best formal wear. Actually, there were two drinks: she had tossed her own at him and then grabbed a stranger’s martini right out of their hand and doused him with that one as well. So tonight, admittedly, Hugo had had his doubts but then he remembers that he didn’t spend three thousand dollars on a suit for nothing. Additionally, his hair is looking particularly coiffed so any silly, self conscious thoughts are pushed out of his mind: especially when he recalls how lovely some of the members of this lounge are.

 

Here he was, feeling sorry for himself, forgetting how handsome he is and how well he blends into a petty show of affluence. Hugo shuffles past a particularly sweaty crowd of accountants and eventually makes his way to the bar. A young. twenty-something man stands awkwardly, toying with the umbrella lolling alongside the glass of (surely) an overpriced cocktail. He seemed out of place, quiet and tight-lipped as surrounding company breaks off into little clusters, conversing, not all too interested in his presence. Was that a cybernetic arm? Oh my.

 

 _Hello_.

 

Tall, _very tall_ , slender, brunet and doe-eyed, Hugo notices, as he trudges closer, making sure to wedge his way into the open gap of space next to the leggy fellow. Maybe a bit on the scrawny side, sure, but the kid’s perky behind in those tight pants make up for it.

 

 

“Scotch,” Hugo says to the bartender. He flattens his palms against the counter and leans forward, squaring his shoulders. Hugo allows his body to take up as much room as possible. It’s part of his routine and it works, for the most part. He can feel eyes on him, indisputably, tracing the broad width of his shoulders.

 

 

“I love scotch,” Hugo speaks, thoughtfully. He drums his fingers along the tabletop. The bartender wordlessly offers him the glass of scotch and he takes a daring gulp, wincing after the liquid hits the back of his throat.

 

 

“The burn feels so damn _good_. Even better after long day.”

 

 

“Um,” a voice pipes up, right on queue as Hugo predicted. “Are you…talking to me?”

 

Glass in hand, Hugo turns to face his current prospect. Good god, his _eye_. It’s so bright and glaring and as Hugo surveys the stranger he can’t help but feel a little weak in the knees, though he’d never admit that last part aloud. The kid’s got a pretty face; so pretty that its hard to believe that he’s here alone: long, straight nose, soft and smooth hair that’s slicked back in a way that does something inexplicable to his already hollow cheekbones.

 

“I’m not talking to myself, am I?” Hugo answers.

 

 

He extends his hand towards the younger man’s, who hesitates, then smiles as he accepts the gesture. Hugo appreciates the firm grip of their hand shake.

 

 

“I guess not,” replies the stranger, grinning. It’s not a wolfish grin and its hardly flirty, more polite and cordial than anything.

 

 

“Hugo Vasquez,” Hugo introduces. “I’ve seen you around before.”

 

“I’m Rhys,” The kid says. “Kind of hard to miss the robot arm so I’m sure you’ve seen me.”

 

“And what an arm it is,” Hugo praises, setting his glass down. The kid, Rhys, blushes slightly at this. “Mind if I take a look?”

 

“Oh, uh, sure.”

 

Rhys’s arm unfolds and it falls gently into Hugo’s waiting hands. It’s not as heavy as he’d imagine a cybernetic arm would be. The mechanics are sleek and so smooth, not a scratch in sight; well taken care of and looked after.

 

“How new, exactly?” Hugo asks, trailing one finger along the metal. He doesn’t miss the tiny hitch in Rhys’s breath during the inspection.

 

“A couple months. I got the eye and the arm for my new job. New haircut, too, and a port.”

 

“Ambitious, huh?”

 

“Not really,” Rhys laughs nervously. “Just…you know. Middle management. Nothing too exciting.”

 

“And the tattoos,” Hugo adds, leering coyly. He points to the design that curls nicely at Rhys’s neck. “Those part of the new job too?”

 

“No, no of course not. I got these a long time ago.”

 

“You can see them if you like,” Rhys continues. He’s playing with the toothpick in his drink again, visibly nervous. The glint in his Echo eye is incandescent now. “Later, I mean.”

 

As he’s raising his eyebrows, Hugo teases, “Oh my. That sounds pretty ambitious to me, Rhys.”

 

 

He laughs when Rhys chokes on his cocktail.

 

 

“Oh god,” Rhys squeaks, “I—I didn’t mean—wow, you’re right, that was very forward of me. I’m so sorry, I don’t do this often.”

 

 

“It’s alright,” Hugo says. A bright crimson creeps into the kid’s cheeks as he clears his throat and visibly shudders under Hugo's calculated stare.

 

 

“Y-you’re, uh, really handsome,” Rhys explains, scratching the back of his neck. “And really intimidating. I don’t usually —look, if you would rather not watch me make an idiot out of myself—“

 

 

“Let me buy you a drink.”

 

“What.”

 

“Another cocktail?”

 

“Why—“

 

“Because you’re cute, Rhys.”

 

“Oh. Okay.”

 

 

Rhys doesn’t question any further. Poor thing is probably afraid of blurting out something inopportune. When Hugo hands Rhys his next drink, he lets their fingers brush. Rhys’s fingers are long and slender, just like the rest of him.

 

“I’m not sure I believe you, Rhys,” Hugo begins, nonchalant. “What’s your story? I doubt you’ll be stuck in middle management forever.”

 

“Honestly?” Rhys answers, bowing in close. The dull thud from the club music is lost on them at this point. He knows the sudden proximity has nothing to do with whether or not they can hear each other. “I want to be on top.”

 

Rhys’s eyes grow large and wide after he realizes what he’s said; even wider when Hugo smirks.

 

 

“Of the corporate ladder! “ Rhys exclaims, waving his hands defensively. “Of Hyperion. Not the—oh my god.”

 

“I know what you meant.”

 

 

Though he doesn’t vocalize it, yes, Hugo thinks, the kid is definitely not topping anytime soon.

 

 

“I—um—“

“So you’re an ambitious young man and you want to be on top—“ here he pauses, enjoying the way the kid ducks his head bashfully, shoulders sloping in submission, “—of the _corporate ladder—_ but you don’t flirt often. Am I getting it right so far?”

 

Rhys sighs, “I haven’t flirted in a while because I’ve been in a relationship. My girlfriend—er, ex girlfriend, she dumped me recently.”

 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hugo says, leaving less and less space every time he inches nearer.

 

“No you’re not.”

 

They can smell each other’s breath now—Rhys’s lips probably taste like lemon and gin while Hugo’s fragrance is bitter and smoky. Rhys lets out a shaky breathe as Hugo’s calloused finger strokes his chin before propping it up, gently. Staring deep into Hugo’s eyes, Rhys can unequivocally sense the hunger in the older man’s unrelenting gaze.

 

 

“Rhys,” Hugo starts his sentence as though he’s choosing his words carefully. “Might I suggest that we skip the small talk?”

 

“Oh thank god,” Rhys sighs with relief, a weak smile tugging at his mouth. “I thought you’d never ask.”

 

“I find it trivial and I knew I'd like to inside you the moment I laid eyes on you."

 

"And they say romance is dead," Rhys jokes, lamely.

 

 

Rhys lets him trail his finger and thumb down his chin, over his throat. All the while, Rhys just stands there, biting his lip as Hugo presses slightly at his Adam’s Apple. Abruptly, Hugo pulls away because there’s _so_ much he wants to do and the fact that Rhys is so compliant, so obedient, is too much of a turn on—not that he’s ever been ashamed flaunting signs of arousal in public. ( _It’s not proper etiquette_ , his bosses insist. _Then why haven't I gone soft yet?_ Hugo boasts.)

 

The only warning he gives Rhys is a primal, low growl that bubbles from his throat before he interlocks their arms, guiding them away from the bar. When they make it to the elevator, it’s Rhys who grabs Hugo Vasquez by the tie to yank him forward. Thankfully, he’s done this after Hugo punched in the numbers that lead them to the floor of his suite. Both of Hugo’s arms land on either side of Rhys, caging him, not giving him the chance to escape even if Rhys wanted to. Rhys definitely has no intentions of backing off, that much is apparent. This is confirmed when Rhys surges forward to capture Hugo’s lips with his own. Rather, it’s a bruising crush of mouths smacked together but Hugo is quick to lick his lips open, tenderly.

 

 _Fuck_ yes, Rhys’s lips are as soft as he’d imagined. God, all of him is so damn soft and smooth and Hugo needs Rhys naked _five minutes ago_. Rhys doesn’t seem to mind that Hugo’s beard is scratching his face as he kisses him back, hard. The kiss gets heated and sloppy with Rhys tangling one hand in Hugo’s hair (which he knows looks perfect and he laments that its become untidy so soon) as Hugo swallows his moan. He sucks on Rhys’s bottom lip, catching it between his teeth and biting it, moving away to press a low chuckle into the pretty, pale neck that he knows is going to bruise easily.

 

 

“Oh, gorgeous,” Hugo singsongs, stepping away as the elevator comes to a stop. “You and I are going to have _so_ much fun.”

**Author's Note:**

> Writing from a douchebag's perspective is fun.


End file.
